


brother to brother

by starlightwalking



Series: Fëanorian Redemption [11]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 100 word drabbles, Beleriand, Brother Feels, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Lightly Toasted Amrod, Re-embodied elves, Soul Bond, Tolkien Gen Week 2020, Valinor, brief cameos from Celebrimbor & Elladan, it's okay they get better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25240279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking
Summary: The Sons of Fëanor, from Valinor to Beleriand and back again.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sons of Fëanor - Relationship
Series: Fëanorian Redemption [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1484228
Comments: 20
Kudos: 49
Collections: Tolkien Gen Week 2020





	1. Valinor

**Author's Note:**

> For [Tolkien Gen Week](http://tolkiengenweek.tumblr.com/) 2020, Day 6: Group Dynamic! Technically this is more "one-on-one relationships within a group" but! I'm the mod so I get to say it still counts!
> 
> Each of these scenes is a "true drabble" of exactly 100 words. Each 1:1 brother relationship is explored once in each chapter, a total of three times each (21 scenes per chapter & 63 scenes in all). I wrote the scenes in chunks separated by the relationships, then reorganized them to be in chronological order.
> 
> This fic exists within my Feanorian Redemption universe! Chapter 1 can be read with no context of that verse; Chapter 2 can be read with a little context given in the notes; Chapter 3 won't make a lot of sense without being familiar with the events of my fic [ATATYA](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20398906/chapters/48384556).
> 
> My Amras is the older twin; in this verse, Amrod burns at Losgar but survives.
> 
> There are several background ships; they aren't the focus of the story, but they do affect the brotherly relationships. I'll list them above each chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ships in this chapter: Maedhros/Fingon, Maglor/his wife, Celegorm/Aredhel (briefly), Curufin/his wife, Amrod/OMC (briefly)
> 
> CW for Implied/Referenced Homophobia in early Valinor.

"What if the new baby doesn't like me?" Kano asked with wide eyes.

Nelyo pulled him into a hug. "I'm sure he'll like you," he said. "You like me, right?"

"Of course!" Kano buried his face in Nelyo's chest. "You're the best big brother ever!"

Nelyo beamed. He adored his little brother, and he knew he'd love the baby too.

"I'm worried I can't be as good a big brother as you," Kano confessed, sniffling a little.

"I'll teach you how," Nelyo promised. "You'll be learning from the best, right?"

Kano giggled. "As long as you mean you, not Atya..."

* * *

"Aren't you excited, Turcafinwë?" Kano asked, tickling his little brother until he cried with laughter. "You're gonna be a big brother, just like me!"

Turco slapped his hands away, gasping for breath. "I'm—don' need another brother!" he squeaked. "You'n'Nelyo are fine, I don' _wanna_ have t' change a diaper or anythin'!"

"Use proper diction, Turco," Kano scolded. "What would Atya say?"

"I don' care," Turco grumbled. "He didn' ask before makin' another brother!"

"I was excited to be a big brother," Kano said, frowning. "I'm sure you'll like the baby."

"Will _not_. Bet he screams."

Well, he wasn't _wrong_.

* * *

Tyelkormo glared at Moryo. Moryo glared at Tyelkormo. Neither of them were the kind of child who lost a staring contest. They were more similar than they looked at first sight: Moryo was dark as Tyelkormo was fair, but they had the same stubbornness and the same ferocious temper.

But while Tyelkormo was named for his hastiness, Moryo was known for his anger, even at this young age. It was he who broke the stare first, lunging at his older brother and grabbing the last sweet right out of his hands.

"Ammë!" Tyelkormo wailed, but Moryo had already run off.

* * *

It was hard for their brothers to understand why Moryo was so easily angered, so quick to bite the hand that fed him. Maitimo learned to watch for the signs, to see when Moryo twitched in that certain way that foreshadowed an outburst, to steer him gently away from bursting into a rage. Kano was oblivious, Tyelko and Curvo would gang up on him, the twins had no tact—it was Maitimo who knew Moryo best, Maitimo who helped him find ways to vent his temper so no one would be hurt, Maitimo who gave him the space he needed.

* * *

"Kano?"

Makalaurë groaned, poking his head out from under his covers. Usually the twins went to Nelyo with their nightmares, but not tonight. "What is it?"

A singular red-haired child slipped inside. "My toe's hurt, real bad," he whimpered. "Me'n'Ambarussa were playing, but I dropped a box, and...I don' wanna get in trouble with Atya... Can you sing it better?"

Makalaurë rolled out of bed. "Come here...Telvo?"

"Mhm."

He pulled Telvo onto his lap and sang a healing song. When he was done, Telvo's toe was better, and his babiest brother had fallen fast asleep in his arms.

* * *

" _Gotcha!_ "

Tyelkormo shrieked as a sudden weight dropped on his shoulders. He twisted, trying to shake the thing off him, but as bright red hair flew in his face and he heard the delighted laughter of his youngest brother, he flopped dramatically onto his stomach.

"The mighty beast has been brought down by the great warrior!" he cried. "Many will be the songs praising his deeds of this hunt!"

His attacker giggled, rolling off his back to crouch down in front of him. "I win!"

Tyelkormo kissed Telvo on the noise. "This time," he agreed. "But you'd better watch out!"

* * *

Keeping secrets from his twin was _hard_. Pityo only managed to do it with help, and only when it was _very important_. And this was _very important_. It had to be a _surprise_.

Nelyo and Moryo were strongest with ósanwë, after Ammë; she was too busy with the _other_ begetting day preparations, and Moryo still had trouble with control.

"I don't want him to know I'm keeping a secret," Pityo whispered.

Nelyo frowned, but he nodded. "Alright," he said slowly. "You'll need something else to think of."

It was hard, but he managed—and it was worth Telvo's surprised delight.

* * *

"Like this," he said, kneeling at Ambarussa's side. "Hold it a little higher—that's it, you've almost got it—and then—"

Ambarussa let the arrow fly. It wobbled through the air, missing the target entirely, and his round little face fell.

"Excellent!" Tyelkormo exclaimed, clapping him on the shoulders.

"But I missed," Ambarussa whined.

"You shot something," Tyelkormo countered.

"Yeah," he grumbled, "the ground."

"That's better than nothing!" Tyelkormo nudged him. "Plenty of folk never even get that far. Come on, go pick up your arrow and we'll try again."

"Will I ever be as good as you?"

"Maybe someday!"

* * *

"He said he hated me!" Telvo wailed, sobbing into Moryo's arms.

Moryo patted him awkwardly. It wasn't often he was in charge when his parents were busy, having three older brothers in addition to the three younger, but Nelyo had run off with Findekáno and Kano had a rehearsal and Tyelko was on a year-long hunt with Oromë. Curvo was easy to look after—he just had to make sure he ate every now and then—but when the twins got into a spat...

"You've got a fëa-bond," Moryo said roughly. "Feel into that. He's upset, but just for now."

* * *

"I don't know why you're so horrified!" Tyelko shouted. "It's not as if you've never seen a Nolofinwëan's ass before!"

It took all of Maitimo's self-control not to hit him. "Findekáno and I are _discrete_ ," he growled. "The _forge_ , Tyelko, _really_? It could've been so much worse—it could've been _Atya_ who walked in on you and Írissë!"

"What's he gonna do?" Tyelko demanded. "He doesn't control me!"

"Think before you act for once in your life!" Maitimo cried. "A nís and a nér of our houses—"

"What, and two néri is better?"

Self-control was overrated, really. Maitimo shoved him.

* * *

"I'm your _big brother_!" Pityo sang, ruffling Curufinwë's hair. "You have to listen to me, Curvo, because I'm so _big_ —"

"No you are _not_!" Curufinwë shouted, slapping his hand away. "Just because you and Telvo have an inch on me as of last year—"

"You used to lord over us just how much _bigger_ you were," Pityo teased, grinning with downright _malice_. "But who's the little one now?"

" _Still you!_ " Curufinwë insisted, giving in to his taunts and tackling him. "I'm older, that means I'm bigger—"

But his younger (bigger!) brother was quick to pin him down, still grinning gleefully.

* * *

Above him there was a series of furious stomps. Makalaurë paused, his fingers resting lightly on his harpstrings.

"Shut _up_!" bellowed Moryo from his room a floor above. "It's _the middle of the night_ —"

Makalaurë rolled his eyes and resumed his playing. "I have an audition tomorrow!" he sang out.

"And I have an assessment at the university! I need to _rest_ —"

"And I need to practice," Makalaurë countered, not the least bit apologetic. "Would you like me to sing you to sleep, brother dearest?"

Moryo replied with a string of curses that would have impressed even their foul-mouthed father.

* * *

"Oops," said one of the twins, grimacing as he realized he'd tracked mud across Moryo's white linens.

"Argh!" Moryo shrieked. "This is why the rule is _take your boots off_ —"

"I know, I know," his brother apologized. "Don't let Pityo know? He'll tease me forever—"

Moryo glared. "Don't try and fool me, Pityo. I know you're not Telvo. I'm not blaming the wrong twin for this."

Pityo pouted. "That always works on Kano..."

"I'm better with ósanwë, you idiot," Moryo snapped. "I can tell your fëar apart. Now scrub those stains out, or I'll give you nightmares for a week!"

* * *

"Oh, that's simple," Curufinwë said, snatching the mechanism from his eldest brother's hands and tweaking it _just so_ until its movements began again. "See? It was out of alignment. Next time just let me know sooner and I can fix it for you."

Nelyo's mouth twitched. "Of course. Well. I'd better get going, then, and be useful where I can."

"What?" Curufinwë said as Nelyo took the clock back and stomped away. "Nelyo, you said you'd help me in my workshop!"

"You don't need me," Nelyo said, and shut the door.

Curufinwë stared after him, wondering what he'd done wrong.

* * *

"Thanks for coming to support me, Telvo," Makalaurë said, embracing him. He performed so often that he didn't begrudge his family missing him sing, but it still meant the world when one of them showed up.

His brother winced. "Pityo, actually."

Makalaurë swore. "Really?"

But there wasn't a sparkle of mischief in his brother's eyes when he pulled away like there was when the twins played their tricks on him. "Yeah. Sorry."

"No, _I'm_ sorry," Makalaurë apologized. "I should know better—"

"Half the time _I_ barely know better," Pityo joked half-heartedly, but Makalaurë resolved to do better the next time.

* * *

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Telvo wept. "I'm—I have a friend who loves me, but I can't love him—" He bit his tongue, horrified. Oh _no_. He'd let slip that his would-be lover was a _him_.

But Nelyo didn't laugh: he hugged him. "You don't have to love anyone if you don't want to," he murmured. "You're enough on your own."

"You're not...disgusted? That..." Telvo blushed. "I kissed him, Nelyo, even if I didn't mean it, and he's...well, a nér..."

Nelyo only laughed. "I kiss néri too, Telvo," he confessed. "Well—one nér in particular..."

* * *

It shouldn't satisfy him as much as it did to see Curvo's sloppy stitches, the way he pricked his fingers so often, how Ammë's smile didn't quite reach her eyes when she praised his needlework. But Curvo was good at _everything_ , and Moryo was _only_ good at _this_.

So when he gifted a tapestry to Curvo for a wedding gift, of him and Quildalótië hand in hand... Well, as much as he _did_ put his love into every stitch, he couldn't deny he took some glee from the way Curvo winced at the reminder of his one and only failing.

* * *

Curufinwë fidgeted, tugging at the sleeves of his robes, fiddling with the ends of his hair, and Makalaurë decided he needed a distraction.

"Breathe, Curvo," he advised, laying a steady hand on his brother's shoulder. "The scary part will be over soon, and then it will just be you and Quilla."

"That's the scary part," Curufinwë whispered. "Kano, what if—?"

"It will be alright," Makalaurë soothed. "She loves you, and you her. That's all you need. You know how it works, don't you?"

"Of course—!"

"Then you've nothing to fear." Makalaurë hugged him. "Go out there and marry your bride."

* * *

"He's adorable," Ambarto said in a hushed tone, cradling his infant nephew in his arms. "I wish I had a baby brother like all of you, but a nephew is even better."

Curufinwë beamed with pride. "He'll be the greatest of us all," he said, eyes shining.

"A better smith than Atya?" Ambarto asked. Curvo never thought _he_ would be, but perhaps his son...?

Curufinwë hesitated. "We'll see."

A thought occurred to him; Ambarto gasped. "Curvo! If Tyelpë is the youngest, does that mean _I'm_ not the youngest Fëanárion?"

Curufinwë laughed. "No, Telvo. You're still our baby brother, don't worry."

* * *

"I don't need you to look after me!" Curufinwë shouted. "I'm a grown nér, Tyelko, with a wife and child—"

Tyelkormo shoved his brother up against the wall of his forge. "That's what I'm worried about," he growled. "The way things are going—look, Curvo, Quilla might go the way Ammë did."

Curufinwë's face contorted with rage. He was smaller than Tyelkormo, but hours in the forge made him strong: he kicked him away with ease.

"My marriage is _my_ problem," he hissed, "not yours."

Tyelkormo's eyes were flinty. "You're my brother. If she hurts you, it _becomes_ my problem."

* * *

In this horrible new darkness, loved ones clung to one another and cried out in fear. But Ambarrusa didn't need words between them, not in times like this. They were two people, separate néri with separate lives, but those lives were twined together in a way no one else could quite understand. And now, with their grandfather dead and their father mad with grief and rage and the world falling apart around them, Ambarussa retreated into each other, into the mind-space their fëar shared.

 _I'm here. I'm here. We're here._ They said it without words. _Here. Me. You. Us. Together._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Telvo's "would-be lover" is Egalmoth of the Heavenly Arch; my Amrod is aroace, but it took him that encounter to figure that out. This relationship is discussed in [ATATYA](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20398906/chapters/48384556) ch6.


	2. Beleriand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ships in this chapter: Maedhros/Fingon, Maglor/his wife (past), Caranthir/Haleth (nonromantic; implied), Curufin/his wife (past), Amras/OFC
> 
> In this verse, Amras meets and marries my OC Thennes while in Beleriand. Thennes was originally a marchwarden of Doriath, but when she married Amras she joined up with the Feanorians. Her story is more complicated than it appears here in this story - I don't have a fic about her (yet) but she's heavily discussed in [ATATYA](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20398906/chapters/48384556) ch4-7.

Strong arms held him tight as he sobbed, the flames still gnawing at his fëa. It hadn't even been him—it should have been _him_ —Ambarussa! He'd almost lost Ambarussa!

"But you didn't," Nelyo murmured, running fingers through his hair. "We got him, he's going to heal, he's _alive_..."

"I should be with him!" Ambarussa wailed. "My—our fëar—we've got a bond—I could help—"

"It's his hröa that's in danger. The healers don't want you in the way. You're helping by being _here_ , Pityo..."

"Ambarussa," he choked out. "I'm Ambarussa, we're Ambarussa..."

"You'll always be Ambarussa," Nelyo promised.

* * *

"Pityo!" Curufinwë snapped, dragging a pouting Tyelperinquar into his room. "Watch this _infant_ while I work. Our dear _king regent_ has assigned me a task that will take a day in the forge and Tyelpë has so _kindly_ reminded me that he is of no use making anything other than _jewelry_ —"

Ambarussa took pity on his nephew, beckoning him forward. "Alright, alright," he said. "Leave him be, Curvo."

Curufinwë stomped out of the room, cursing. Tyelperinquar's lip wobbled.

Ambarussa kissed his forehead. "He's grieving," he said softly.

Tyelpë nodded; he was far too young for any of this. "I know..."

* * *

"I'll miss you," Ambarto confessed, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Tyelkormo fought back tears. He was soft around the twins in a way he wasn't with his other little brothers; Curvo was his best friend, and Moryo was...Moryo. And ever since burning the ships...

"You'll have Pityo," he said, pulling Telvo into a hug. "You'll be alright."

"And you'll have Curvo," Ambarto said into his shoulder. "I know. But I'll still miss you."

"I'll visit," he promised, "and you'd better, too."

"The game'll be better in the woods than Himlad," Ambarto pointed out. "But yeah. I will."

* * *

"Tyelko!" Carnistir bellowed, and Tyelkormo started guiltily from his nap. "I _swear_ to all the Valar, if your hound ruins _another_ one of my pillows—"

"I thought we forsook the Valar," Tyelkormo drawled. "And isn't this feast supposed to be a time of reconciliation, brother?"

"Not with that _animal_ of yours!" Carnistir cried. "The best thing about Thargelion is that I don't have to worry about you all destroying my belongings—"

"You're more protective of those pillows than Atya was with the Silmarils," Tyelkormo grumbled.

"Don't let Curvo hear you say that," Carnistir warned, but he smirked as he retreated.

* * *

_Lord Curufin of Himlad—_

_Greetings, brother. I am writing to invite you to my castle on Lake Helevorn for a gathering of merchants. There will be Sindar, Laiquendi, and of course Noldor in attendance, and perhaps even a few Edain._

_Normally I would not bother you with such events (I know how busy you are, always) but this is not all: there shall be merchants from at least two of the Dwarven clans present as well. I know of your interest in this crafty and curious people and extend my hospitality to you and your son._

— _Lord Caranthir of Thargelion_

* * *

" _Nelyo_ ," Curufin said in exasperation, cradling the broken prosthetic hand in his arms. "What have you done to my beautiful creation?"

Maedhros' scarred face twisted in what only those closest to him recognized as a grin. "You should see the other fellow."

"What, did you chop the hand off a Balrog?"

"I severed a troll's foot, actually," and really, did he have to sound so _smug_ about it? "How long until you fix it? I can't stay more than a week."

"You'll need a new one," Curufin tutted.

"Maglor's expecting me back—"

"Three days," he interrupted. "Don't underestimate me, brother!"

* * *

"Could you have picked a better time to get married?" Caranthir said irritably, barely letting Amras embrace him before stalking off to his guest quarters. "It's the height of the trading season with the Naugrim!"

Amras didn't let his brother's grumpiness get him down; Caranthir was just like that. "It's my _wedding_!" he exclaimed, elbowing him. "You'll have a good time, I promise!"

"I'd better," Caranthir threatened, "or you'll get nothing for your begetting day!"

"Thanks for buying all the liquor, by the way." Amras pranced away with a smirk.

" _What_?!"

"I told Nelyo to forward the bill to you!"

* * *

"'Enough on my own,' you said," Amrod growled, slamming his fist on the table. "But I wasn't on my own, I had Ambarussa, and now he's found a wife to me and I _am_ on my own—"

Maedhros cleared his throat. Amrod fell silent, still seething beneath the surface.

"Get ahold of yourself," Maedhros ordered. "I meant what I said back then, and I mean it now. You and Pityo will always have each other, and him finding a bride doesn't change that. _But_ ," he said before Amrod could interrupt, "you are your own person, also, just as he is."

* * *

Happy as he was to see his brother married, Maglor barely made it through the wedding song he wrote for Amras and Thennes. He hoped the newlyweds thought the tears in his eyes were of joy—but there was one brother who saw his heart, and knew his pain.

He and Curufin didn't see eye to eye much, these days, but with this... No one else could understand, not even Maedhros at his most heartsick.

They slipped away during the dancing. Curufin procured a strong dwarven liquor and poured half a bottle for Maglor, and they drank their sorrows away.

* * *

"Will you help me look for Írissë?"

Amras blinked. That was not the question he'd been expecting from his brother.

"I thought she didn't want to be found," he said slowly. At least, that was the story he and Amrod had pried from Celegorm on their previous visits to Himlad.

A shadow passed over Celegorm's face. "I heard she's taken up with that Dark Elf in Nan Elmoth. He's got...a nasty reputation around here."

Amrod frowned. "If you think it'll help. I can get Amrod and Thennes to—"

"No," Celegorm said quickly. "Just us. It'll be...safer that way."

* * *

Curufin needed to be in control of _something_ , these days. After they'd lost _everything_ —their chance at regaining a Silmaril, their political power, their almost-alliance with Doriath, Huan, _Celebrimbor_ —he'd've gone mad if he had nothing at all to manipulate.

So Celegorm offered up himself. He ached with their losses, too; he'd lost something of himself in Nargothrond along with his faithless hound. Letting his beloved brother, the only thing he had left, tell him what to do and where to go and who to hate...he needed direction as much as Curvo needed control.

Maybe he was mad, also.

* * *

"Don't bother chewing me out," Celegorm hissed. "We got that from Nelyo already."

Maglor glared. "Not enough, it would seem."

Celegorm slammed his last pack down on the ground. "What do you have to tell us that we haven't already heard?" he growled. "It's the Oath, Kano. You would have done the same, all of you—"

He _might_ have, Maglor realized, or at least something that would've ended the same way. But Finrod had been his _friend_...he'd've tried to fight it. Maedhros would've.

"You've paid for it already," he said at last. "But _never_ do anything like that again."

* * *

Curufin bellowed as one of Caranthir's faithless mortal soldiers landed a blow on his leg. His knees buckled and he fell into the mire of dust and blood that made up the Anfauglith, barely blocking the warrior's next strike. He would _not_ be bested by a mortal, he would _not_ die here, he would _not_ be the first of his brothers to fall—

An arrow soared over his head and into the Man's throat. He fell dead to the ground, and Curufin's head spun as someone dragged him back to his feet.

"We're retreating," Amrod said grimly. "Get out, Curvo."

* * *

Caranthir shut the door with a thud, the characteristic flush rising red in his cheeks. "No one has the key to this room but me," he said.

"Are you imprisoning me?" Maedhros couldn't find it in himself to care; the hollowness inside him threatened to consume him entirely.

"No!" Caranthir snapped. He waved a hand as if he could pull the words out of the air. "I—they're being horrible to you. This is—" He growled. "In Valinor. You found places for me to be alone. This is—that. _You_ need it, now."

The tension in him broke. "Thank you."

* * *

"Don't talk about them like that," Caranthir interrupted.

Maglor blinked. "The Engwar? I said only that their lives are brief. It's hardly slander."

"No—I mean..." He grimaced. "Call them—Edain, or Ephedrim if you must. Not Engwar. They're strong, not... _sickly_."

"Alright," Maglor conceded warily. "Since when have you cared about...Edain?"

"Not soon enough," Caranthir grumbled.

There was a story there, and Maglor was determined to hear it. "What do you mean?"

"I—there was a battle, and after, a Chieftain of Men, she...well, she took me to bed."

"She _what_?"

Caranthir sighed, and told him everything.

* * *

"Sometimes I feel like the only one with any _sense_ ," Amrod grumbled. "If these fools had never fallen in love we'd have so many fewer problems..."

Caranthir grunted. Maedhros was deep in mourning still; Maglor had composed another love ballad for his long-lost wife; Curvo snarled any time someone asked about the wedding band he still wore; Amras was in a fight with Thennes; Tyelko had spurred the comment after someone dared mention Lúthien's name...

"I can't say I've never taken anyone to bed," Caranthir said, "but you're right about _love_ , at least."

Amrod let out a bark of laughter.

* * *

"You're a coward," Celegorm said flatly. "I thought you gave up your foolish ideals when Findekáno died—"

"Don't sully his name with your lips." If Celegorm thought his voice had been flat, he had nothing on Maedhros.

"I'll say whatever I want," he growled. "We have no choice, Nelyo. You want _any_ chance at seeing your precious Findekáno again? We need to get Father's jewels back first."

"If we pay for it in blood, we are damned forever." Maedhros had no emotion behind his eyes. "Jewels or no, a second Kinslaying puts us far from Eru's grace. No. Not again."

* * *

"Pityo! _Pityo_!" Maglor's panicked voice rang through the trees. They'd know if he'd died—Amrod would've felt it—but he could be hurt, _dying_ , where _was_ he—

"Kano," came the ragged-voiced response, and Amras emerged from the trees.

Maglor cried out, pulling him into an embrace. "Where have you _been_?" he demanded. "We've been worried sick—we couldn't lose you _too_ —"

"Thennes." Amras' eyes were dull. "She's—she's dead."

Maglor froze, horrified. Thennes had once been a marchwarden of Doriath; he didn't want to ask which side of her kin had killed her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "but there's more..."

* * *

He didn't see it, but he _felt_ it: the bond between them breaking, his heart along with it. Amras _screamed_ , turning to see a Noldo with a curved sword standing over his twin's headless body, and slaughtered him without thought for his own safety.

He wasn't meant to be alone, and yet— _Ambarto, my brother_ —They'd almost been separated once, by fire, and now by water they met their end—

He caught another blade with his own, barely deflecting a killing blow. He looked up—

"Moryo?" he gasped, _those were Moryo's eyes_ , but no—

The grim-faced warrior ran him through.

* * *

He couldn't bear to watch as the headless body of his youngest brother burned amid the other dead, beside his twin. Maedhros' face was stony, utterly emotionless; for once, Maglor didn't bother trying to coax his brother out of whatever stupor he'd fallen into.

His brother. Singular. The twins—they were dead. Maglor had only one brother now, and he was half-gone from this world in his own terrible way.

He remembered when Tyelko was born, the joy he'd felt, and each time after... He was a big brother, almost as much as Maedhros was.

But not now. Not anymore.

* * *

"You need to sleep," Maedhros said.

Maglor looked up at him, the light in his eyes draining away in his exhaustion. "The children," he rasped. He could barely think after singing the earth to crack during the skirmish, but Elrond and Elros needed him...

"I'll take care of them." Maedhros rested his hand on his shoulder. "Kano..."

"Don't take the 'big brother' tone with me," Maglor snapped. "That doesn't work anymore."

Maedhros raised an eyebrow.

Maglor sighed. He was still a brother, after all. "Fine. I'll sleep. Just...be kind?"

"Of course." Maedhros smiled. He was still a brother, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Engwar" (meaning "sickly") and "Ephedrim" (meaning "followers") are both Sindarin terms for Men other than the more common "Edain."
> 
> The "grim-faced warrior" with Moryo's eyes is identified in [ATATYA](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20398906/chapters/48384556) ch3, if you're curious ;)
> 
> The last section here was originally set during Dagor Bragollach but I didn't want to end on _too_ depressing a note so I reworked it into Kidnap Dads instead!


	3. Valinor, again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events of this chapter are interwoven with the events of my fic [ATATYA](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20398906/chapters/48384556). If you have questions about anything that happens here, it's probably explained in that fic.
> 
> Ships in this chapter: Maedhros/Fingon, Maglor/his wife (rebuilding), Maglor/Daeron (also rebuilding; Mags is trying out polyamory), Curufin/his wife (still past, RIP Curvo), Amras/OFC (past), Amras/Elladan

"Just like old times," Amras said breezily, giving Curufinwë a hug from behind and resting his chin on Curvo's head. "You know that after you died Amrod and I went back to being the shortest? It was miserable. Kano's not _that_ much taller than us, but Nelyo's a giant..."

Curufinwë growled, trying to wriggle away. "I can't believe Námo wouldn't grant me a new hröa even an _inch_ taller," he growled.

"An inch wouldn't do anything." Amras smirked. "You'd still be the shortest."

"You're _insufferable_ ," Curufinwë snapped, but he let Amras hug him again. It was good to be alive.

* * *

"Why did you do it?" Tyelko asked quietly. "I—in Mandos. I saw your memories, just as you saw mine. You could've avoided her. In any other battle, you _would've_."

Curufinwë shuddered, remembering the feeling of Nimloth's blade sliding through his belly. (Some things not even Mandos could erase.) Tyelko was right—he shouldn't have died that day. He should've heard her coming; she was no warrior, she wasn't subtle. And yet...

"I couldn't live without you," he rasped. It was a truth he'd never wanted to admit. "You were gone, and the Silmaril was too. Nothing mattered, after that."

* * *

"I'm _worried_ about you," Maedhros said softly. "You barely look me in the eye anymore. Is...is it something I did—?"

Tyelko _did_ meet his gaze then, eyes burning with shame. "Not you," he rumbled. "You were the best of us, Nelyo. You _are_ the best of us. It's _me_."

"Tyelko..." Maedhros moved to embrace him, but Tyelko flinched away.

"I manipulated you into Doriath," he said. "I forced you down that path of blood. You and Kano did the best you could...but it's my fault."

"We all made our choices," Maedhros said. "You are not wholly to blame."

* * *

When the nightmares came, he didn't know who else to turn to. Ammë, perhaps, but...she couldn't _understand_ the same way. So Moryo turned to Maedhros, who'd always looked out for him, hoping to find some common ground.

Mandos had healed Maedhros in a way it hadn't for Moryo. Nothing could erase the horrors of Beleriand, for either of them, but Maedhros had Fingon again, and Moryo...well, even if _she_ came back from beyond Arda, that wouldn't help.

But Maedhros let him sit quietly in the corner, reading or embroidering or simply watching, and that was enough, for now.

* * *

"Ammë sent me to drag you to supper," Telvo said, leaning against the doorframe of his forge.

Curufinwë grunted, not looking up from the delicate wire he was twisting into a bracelet.

"Curvo, suppertime!" Telvo sang, but he wasn't Kano—there was no power behind it.

"I'm busy," he muttered. "Tell Ammë to save me a plate."

Gently, Telvo laid a hand on his arm. "Come on, Curvo," he wheedled, "it's your favorite..."

"Huckleberries don't grown in Aman, so it can't be my _favorite_ ," he countered, but he sighed and set his project aside. "Alright, alright—tell Ammë I'm coming."

* * *

"Moryo," Tyelko hissed.

Moryo looked up at him murderously. Well, perhaps not _murderously_ ; they'd both slain their own kin enough times to know what that _really_ looked like.

"You'd better have a good reason for disturbing me," he warned.

Tyelko forced his door open a crack. "Let me in?" he pleaded.

Moryo grumbled, but acquiesced. "What did you do this time?"

He didn't bother defending himself. "I broke Curvo's favorite pair of glasses," he admitted. "Accidentally, but..."

Moryo rolled his eyes. "Fine. Hide out here while he rages."

"Thanks!" Tyelko plopped down on Moryo's bed, grinning. "He'll never check here!"

* * *

"Your makeup looks good," Amrod said, waving to the patterns of gold Maedhros painted across his skin. "Quite a statement, too."

Maedhros' smile was still crooked, even now that the only memory of his scars was the gold he applied himself. "Thanks."

"I thought about doing the same thing," Amrod admitted. "But burn scars don't look the same."

"I didn't have the time to find out," Maedhros said drily. "I let the fire finish me off."

Amrod let out a bark of laughter, and Maedhros joined in.

"Ah," he said, "it's nice to laugh over our fire-related trauma, not cry."

* * *

"Moryo!" Curvo burst into his room with no warning, an uncharacteristic light in his eyes. "You will never believe what I just heard from Findaráto!"

Moryo snorted, not looking up from his book. "You're right, I probably won't."

"Did you know that some Silvan lad brought a _dwarf_ with him to Valinórë?" Curvo exclaimed. "He's since passed on to Aulë's halls—the dwarf, I mean—but his friend is at Avorndor!"

"Hm!" Moryo said, actually intrigued. "Well! Too bad you're banned from Thingol's realm, then."

"But _you're_ not," Curvo said, "not explicitly, at least—"

Moryo sighed. "I'll write a letter."

* * *

When Telvo came to him with teary eyes, all it took was a quick brush against his mind with ósanwë for Moryo to deduce the problem. Not that there was much doubt; only one person could hurt him like this.

"What am I going to tell you?" he asked before Telvo could even speak.

Telvo blinked. "...I should go after him?"

Moryo snapped and waved a hand in dismissal. "Exactly. Pityo doesn't hate you."

"But he thinks _I_ hate _him_ —"

"You've had this argument a hundred times," Moryo interrupted, though he didn't know which one it was. "Go to him."

* * *

Maedhros had never seen Curvo so hesitant in a request. Usually he made _demands_ , and woe be unto any who would refuse him. But now...

"Do you think you could..." he trailed off.

Maedhros waited, an eyebrow raised.

"It's Tyelpë," Curvo admitted. "He—that bastard Úmaia—I thought you—"

"Of course," Maedhros agreed softly. He knew all too well just how _cruel_ Þauron could be. "I'll talk to him, if he wants to talk."

Curvo's shoulders sagged in relief. "Thank you," he whispered. "I only just got him back, I can't bear to see him like this..."

Maedhros embraced him.

* * *

"We can wait," Amras offered. "Really, we can, it's not fair I can marry _twice_ before you and Findekáno get your chance—"

"It would hardly be 'fair' to make you wait," Maedhros said, resting a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Finno and I knew what we were getting into. Our political troubles are not your fault; I would not dare punish you for them."

"Are you sure?" Amras asked. "Truly, it's alright..."

"Marry your sweetheart, Amras," Maedhros said gently. "I want to see you and Elladan happy, sooner rather than later. And you will see us happy in our turn."

* * *

"Of course I'll stand at your side," Amrod said softly. "I'd be offended if you asked anyone else."

Amras broke into a relieved grin. "I know," he said. "You did it the first time, and you begrudged Thennes much more than Elladan."

"I'm used to you being married now, I suppose." Amrod shrugged. "I'm not jealous. As much."

Amras embraced him. "I'm bonding with Elladan," he murmured, "but you know we'll always have a bond. First and always. You're my twin. I can't live without you, Ambarussa."

Amrod hugged him tight, responding without words: _I know. I will. I promise._

* * *

"Tyelko," he hissed, prodding his older brother's sleeping form. "Tyelko, get up."

He was always quick to rise. In just moments he was up, bright-eyed and ready to go. "Yeah?" he whispered.

Amrod jerked his head to the other tent—not quite far enough away to mask the sounds of Amras and his husband. "They're at it again. Wanna get a head start?"

Tyelko rolled his eyes. "Newlyweds. Like dogs in heat." He stretched. "Yeah, alright. Let me grab my bow."

He and Amrod set out before dawn's light, and didn't apologize when Amras and Elladan caught up to them.

* * *

"Are you and Lord Oromë..." Amras searched for the right words, and couldn't find them. "...good?" he settled.

Tyelko shot him a strange look. "What do you mean?"

"I noticed," he said slowly, "that you'll slip away some nights. With him. I thought you said you were...done with that."

"I thought it was Telvo I had to worry about," Tyelko teased, "considering you and Elladan do your own _slipping away_ most nights..." But then he grew more serious. "It's...different, this time. Still a game, but sometimes _I'm_ the hunter. I'm alright, Pityo."

Amras nodded. "If you say so."

* * *

"You might like this," Pityo said, sliding a book his way. "I know you prefer boring stuff on economics or history, but this is...what do you call it, historical fiction?"

Moryo flipped to the reviews on the back. " _A rollicking tale of adventure in foreign lands,_ " he read, " _sure to please any reader..._ Where did you get this?"

"Elladan recommended it. Foreign means _foreign_ , too, not just Beleriand—like Rhûn."

"Mm." Moryo liked his newest brother-in-law, he supposed, but he hadn't thought him the reading type. Then again, with a father like Elrond... "Alright, I'll give it a try."

* * *

"And this is—" Amras blushed, pulling a shockingly familiar nér forward— "my husband, Elladan."

Maglor could only stare. "Elladan?"

"Grandfather Maglor," Elladan said reverently. "It's wonderful to finally meet you."

"You married _Elladan_?" Maglor demanded, his voice strangled.

"Um...yes?" Amras laughed nervously. "Nelyo gave us his blessing...?"

"I'm not... _upset_ ," Maglor assured, pinching his nose, "but you understand how _bizarre_ this is for me, right? Elladan is—he's practically my _grandson_ —"

"And your brother-in-law," Elladan added, laughing nervously.

Maglor groaned, but he pulled both of them into a hug. "I didn't think our family tree could get _more_ complicated..."

* * *

"I got you something," Moryo said abruptly.

Maglor jumped at the sudden noise, hands flying to daggers that weren't there. Moryo sympathized: it had taken years before he stopped flinching at every shadow, and _he'd_ had the benefit of time in Mandos.

"What is it?" Maglor asked hesitantly.

He huffed. "Your harp. It's in your room."

"My...harp?"

"The old one, you had in Tirion, before..." Moryo waved a hand. "You know. It was in a museum. I bought it back."

Maglor stared at him, and Moryo's stomach twisted—but then he broke into a grin.

"Thanks," he said softly.

* * *

Now that Kano was back, _finally_ , Tyelkormo hovered around him anxiously. Nelyo was on his honeymoon, the twins were busy with politics, Moryo was visiting Alqualondë, Curvo and Tyelpë had inventions to worry about, and Tyelkormo was afraid that if he let Kano out of his sight he'd vanish again.

"I don't need you hovering over me," Kano rasped, smiling slightly. "I survived five ages without you."

"Did Oromë treat you alright?" Tyelkormo burst out. "On the journey back?"

"What?"

"Because if he hurt you—or threatened you—I'll, I'll—"

Kano blinked. "He's a Vala, Tyelko."

"And you're my _brother_."

* * *

It shouldn't hurt to see the beginnings of something so beautiful being rebuilt. He shouldn't feel torn apart by jealousy each time Ezellë took Maglor's hesitantly offered hand. It shouldn't make him sick when Daeron watched Maglor with fondness as he played the harp.

But it wasn't _fair_ , Curufinwë seethed silently. Why did Maglor get to be forgiven by _both_ his loves, why did they get to work things out, when Quildalótië wouldn't even _speak_ to him?

Once, at Amras' first wedding, they'd dulled the pain of missing their wives together. Now Curufinwë was alone in his grief and loss.

* * *

"Did you..." Amrod struggled to find the words. "The Silmaril." He'd asked Maedhros, but all he could remember was _burning, fire, heat_ —and Amrod understood _that_ better than anyone. He still felt flames beneath his skin, sometimes. But he had to know.

Maglor stilled. "What about it?" he asked warily.

"You _held_ it." Even before they'd been taken, Fëanáro's sons had rarely been granted that privilege. "Did it...did you feel _any_ relief? Did the Oath...break?"

"No." Maglor didn't meet his eyes. "Nothing. Just pain. All of Atya's anger and grief. I'm sorry."

Amrod nodded. He'd expected as much.

* * *

"I can't," Maglor said suddenly. "No, I can't— He doesn't want—"

"He _does_ ," Maedhros insisted. He reached out and grabbed Maglor—using his _right hand._ It was that, more than anything, that gave Maglor pause. Maedhros was alive again, and whole, not the shattered nér he'd been when...

Maglor closed his eyes. "You're...you're certain?"

Maedhros drew him close in an embrace. "I'm certain," he promised. "And he is too. He misses you. We both have."

Maglor nodded, taking a shaky breath. "Alright, then."

Maedhros grasped his hand and led him into Elrond's home, and Maglor saw his son again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book Pityo gives to Moryo is a fictionalized version of the in-universe historical events of [my fic for TGW day 4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25162372)!
> 
> TBH, I think that Elrond would probably have met Maglor again right after Maglor's dramatic return to Valinor at Maedhros and Fingon's wedding (see [ATATYA](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20398906/chapters/48384556)), because Elrond was definitely there...but for the sake of this fic having a satisfying conclusion, I guess not? Maybe they did reunite, but only briefly, and then Maglor kept his distance from Elrond until Maedhros was like "OK we're going to visit him, no more melodrama." I might revisit that in a later fic in this verse; we'll see...

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and please comment if you enjoyed!  
> You can find me on tumblr [@arofili](http://arofili.tumblr.com/), and check out the [Tolkien Gen Week](http://tolkiengenweek.tumblr.com/) blog too!


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